


With the Briefcase Blues

by fizzyblogic (phizzle)



Category: All-American Rejects
Genre: Crack, M/M, WIP Amnesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-23
Updated: 2011-02-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 16:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written probably some time in 2007 or so? I'm not sure if I have the original file, so can't check. Anyway, it was a while back and I can't remember anything I was going to do with it, but I like what I have, so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With the Briefcase Blues

The first time Chris heard the tiny voice next to his ear, he thought he was going crazy.

“Hey,” was the whisper, on his left, “hey, you should totally let Bob think he shaved evenly this morning.”

Chris blinked.

“No way,” came a whisper from his right shoulder. “You have to tell him, he can easily fix it.”

“Oh come on!” the first voice piped up. “What, the guy’s not going to notice on his own? Fuck him, if he can’t notice his own reflection.”

“He’s _busy_ ,” hissed the second voice. “He’s _working_.”

Chris sneaked a look over at Bob and, sure enough, there was a large patch of stubble on his otherwise clean-shaven jaw. (Bob hated the company policy. “The designers get to have beards,” he grumbled approximately once a week. “And they don’t even fucking _grow_ them. Bastards.”)

“Tell him,” the voice on his right urged. Chris closed his eyes and breathed evenly, hoping that by pointedly ignoring the voices they would see fit to fuck off and leave him to his sanity. He quite liked his sanity.

“What, and look like a girly jerk? Hey yeah, Bob, you’ve got a little…” The mocking whisper trailed off and Chris felt a tiny tap on his jaw.

He opened his eyes. There wasn’t much reflection from his computer screen, so he glanced at the window and —

And there were two very tiny people on his shoulders. They were maybe four inches high, and the one on the left was sitting back from tapping his chin, arms folded and looking smug. He had miniscule red horns nestled in dark curls, and a red tail snaked out from the back of his jeans. The other one had white, feathery wings and was shaking his head disapprovingly.

“Brian, do I have something on my shoulder?” Chris asked. Brian glanced over and shook his head, turning back to his screen and the game of Solitaire that had seemed so absorbing when Chris had got in that morning. Sometimes he wondered if Brian actually slept in the office, or if he was just an early riser.

“No one else can see us,” the voice on his right said. “Hi.”

“I am so not going to talk to myself,” Chris hissed at them. He caught his reflection again; Devil Horns was smirking.

“We’re telepathic,” Angel Wings said. “Or, I mean, it goes one way; we can hear your thoughts.”

“That’s creepy,” Chris muttered. He felt a tiny elbow in the left side of his neck.

“We won’t read _all_ of your thoughts.” There was a leer in the voice, and a tiny sigh came from his other side.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Chris rolled his eyes. Bob looked over.

“Appreciate what?” he asked.

“Nothing. Uh, Bob, do you own a mirror?” Bob raised one eyebrow but caught his reflection in the window; he stopped, make an annoyed sound, and then shrugged.

“Whatever. I’ll fix it at lunch.” He turned back to his computer, where it looked like he was writing an email.

Angel Wings hopped down Chris’s arm to sit on his desk. “You should, you know, stop talking to us out loud. Just think at us, okay?”

“Yeah,” Devil Horns grinned, sliding down Chris’s other arm like it was a helter-skelter, winding around and around. He landed on the desk and added, “My name’s Tyson, stop calling me Devil Horns.”

“Sorry, I didn’t —” Chris stopped, took a deep breath, and thought _I didn’t know what else to call you._

“It’s alright,” Angel Wings assured him. “And my name’s Nick.”

“You do —” Chris sighed. _You do realise this is intensely weird, right?_

Tyson shrugged. “Not for us.” He wandered over to Chris’s computer keyboard and sat on the shift key.

“Hey —” Chris glanced around. He was getting some funny looks. _Don’t sit on there, jackass._

“Come on, Ty,” Nick sighed, and Tyson fell off the key. He just — slithered down, as though he’d lost his balance. He was still grinning, though.

_What are you even doing here?_ Chris thought at them, trying to look busy.

“We’re what you’d call your standard-issue conscience and daring, my friend,” Tyson told him, slinging an arm over Chris’s wrist. He pointed at Nick and stage whispered, “He’s conscience. I’m daring.”

_I figured._ Chris was very disconcerted. _This is very disconcerting._

“It’s bound to be, at first,” Nick patted his other wrist. “You’ll get used to us.”

_Will you let me work now?_ Chris asked, trying to claim his wrists back. _I want to, you know, get paid and not fired._

“Hey, getting fired could be great!” Tyson lit up. “Think of all the stuff you could do if you weren’t in this crappy job! You could watch daytime TV, or be a children’s entertainer, or join a band like you always wanted.”

“Yeah, but none of those things allow you to _keep your apartment_ ,” Nick pointed out.

_Will you please_ , Chris firmly resisted the urge to drop his head into his hands, _let me work?_

“Sorry.” Nick climbed over Chris’s fingers and pulled Tyson away. “Come on, Ty, let’s leave him to work.”

“But we could have so much _fun_ here —”

“Ty,” Nick repeated, sharply. Tyson went still for a split second, then broke out into a grin again and grabbed Nick’s hand.

“Let’s go make our _own_ fun,” he leered at Nick, jumping up and pulling him away over the desk.

Nick threw Chris a look as they disappeared, and called, “Just be glad you can’t read _his_ thoughts.”

_My conscience is banging my daring_ , Chris thought. _Or is it my daring is —_

Tyson’s head appeared over the edge of the desk. “You had it right the first time. We’ll be in this drawer, don’t drop anything in, okay?”

An unseen hand yanked him down, as Nick’s voice hissed, “Ty, just close it, come on —”

“Think porn for us!” Tyson called as the drawer slid closed. Chris shook himself.

“You alright, man?” Bob had turned around and was watching Chris. “You’re acting all weird.”

“Yeah. Sorry. Kind of having a — I need coffee, I think. It’s one of those mornings.”

A small bump emanated from his desk drawer. Bob didn’t seem to hear it.

“Here.” Johnson appeared out of nowhere and held out a Starbucks cup. “I just did a run. It’s a caramel latte, I have others if you want just black or something.”

“No, this is good. Thanks.” He took the cup and sipped. Hot, delicious caffeine raced down his throat. “When do you go full-time again?”

Johnson snorted. “You’re kidding me, right? Oh, wait, I was thinking of asking for full-time in summer.”

“We will make it happen,” Disashi called over, clutching a large cup lovingly.

“Seriously,” Chris nodded. “You’re the best temp there could _ever be_.”

“Hey, can I get a raise for that?” Johnson perked up.

“Probably not,” Brian said, nursing his own cup.

A tiny voice from Chris’s drawer called out, “No harm in trying, right?”

“Are you _really_ —” Chris hissed, then stopped. “Uh. No harm in trying, though, right?”

“Yeah.” Johnson eyed him. “Drink your coffee, dude, and let me know if there’s anything else you need and stuff. Sandwich. Photocopying. Anti-psychotic pills.”

Chris curled around his cup and reminded himself not to tell the sweet little college kid to fuck off. Partly because Johnson was sweet, mostly because he brought coffee and had some secret ninja skills.

Nick and Tyson crawled out of the drawer a little while later, Nick smoothing his shirt down and Tyson leaving his clothes rumpled and obviously hasily put back on. “What did we miss?” Tyson asked. It was a very strange thing to watch a four-inch-high demon swagger across a desk full of things that were mostly bigger than him, but Tyson managed to pull it off.

Nick stretched his wings out, shook them, and folded them back in again. “I don’t think he’s speaking to us.”

Chris was just finishing up with the new admin guy’s paperwork. He hit ‘print’ and thought at them, _I’m just working, okay? I have a guy to see, so don’t make me look crazy when he comes down here, alright? Please?_

“I’ll keep Ty in line,” Nick promised, dragging Tyson by the hand. They settled on the edge of the desk, legs dangling over the side. Chris kept sneaking looks at them. Tyson was curling his tail away from Nick, and they were just sitting, whispering so softly he couldn’t hear any words, Tyson reaching out tentatively to gently stroke a hand over Nick’s wings. He ran his palm over the feathers gently, soothingly, and Nick stopped whispering and closed his eyes.

Chris snapped his eyes back to the screen, feeling like he’d just walked in on them having sex or something. He signed off the email asking the new guy to come down to HR for his paperwork and clicked ‘send’, all the while trying not to blush.

When he looked again a minute later, Nick had one wing around Tyson’s back and they were making out, Tyson’s hand on Nick’s cheek, Nick’s thumb brushing under Tyson’s ear. Chris just managed to keep himself from clearing his throat; he thought the words _cough, cough_ instead.

Tyson grinned into the kiss and waved with the hand that wasn’t stroking Nick’s face. Chris rolled his eyes. _Just keep yourselves occupied and don’t say anything when_ — He stopped.

He stopped because a guy had just walked into the office, led by Brendon — “Ah, there’s Chris, see I know it’s a labyrinth but do you think you can get back okay?” — and the guy was smiling a really wide, really warm smile, and Chris had to remember to close his mouth and swallow, because the dude was hot. He shook hands with Bob, who had clearly never mentioned how hot the new guy was because he hated Chris. Or, okay, probably because Bob was pretty much straight and hadn’t noticed the hotness of New Dude, but still, a little warning might have been nice.

“Hi,” New Dude said, coming over and holding out a hand for Chris to shake, “I’m Mike, you said to come down here for my paperwork?”

“Uh. Right! New guy.” _Pull yourself the fuck together, Gaylor._

“That’s a good idea.” Nick’s voice was muffled. _Shut up_ , Chris thought at them desperately.

“Yeah, first day. Thanks, Brendon,” he added, turning to beam his smile at Brendon. “I think I can find the way back again.”

“Okay. I’ll see you back up there?” Brendon waved at Bob, Brian, Chris and Disashi and ducked out of the office again.

“You settling in okay?” Chris asked, grabbing the pages out of the printer and checking they’d all come out fine and in the right order.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s nice here. Brendon’s been showing me around.” Mike watched as Chris shuffled the pages together, lining them up, and stapled them. “Do I have to fill in any more forms?”

“Not really. There’s a questionaire I’ll give you in about a week, but other than that you won’t see me unless there’s a problem.” Chris silently kicked himself. That wasn’t what Mike had asked.

“Okay.” Mike took his paperwork, glancing over it and seeming to hesitate. “So um.” He paused, turning over the corner of a page, creasing it and unbending it and creasing it again. “What kind of problems should I come to you with?”

“Why, you got a problem in your pants?” Tyson called over. _Shut the_ fuck up _, Tyson_ , Chris thought at him. Tyson sniggered.

“Uh, you know, any complaints you might have about your co-workers — not that you should, they’re all really nice people up in admin — and uh. Just anything to do with, you know, people.” He gestured weakly at the _Human Resources_ sign on the door.

“Right.” Mike was smiling again, that warm smile that made Chris think of sunshine and relaxing on a porch in July twilight. He tried not to actually physically shake himself again. “Guess I’ll see you around, Chris Gaylor.”

“Uh. Yeah.” Chris gave him an awkward wave as Mike clapped Bob on the shoulder and waved at the others as he left.

Chris dropped into his chair, folded his arms on the desk and thunked his head down onto them.

“Wow,” Bob observed, deadpan, “how do you do it, Gaylor? How are you so _smooth_ with the dudes?”

“Fuck you. You didn’t tell me he was hot,” Chris shot back, sounding muffled. He felt tiny wings brushing against his shoulder and two tiny bodies trying to hug him. He buried his face further into his arms.

“It wasn’t so bad,” Tyson murmured. “Did you see the way he smiled at you?”

“Shut up, you were the one who put the word _pants_ in my head,” Chris muttered.

Something landed on his desk and Johnson’s voice said, “Seriously, any time you want those anti-psychotic pills, you just let me know.”

“Thanks, I’ll pass.” Chris leaned up and back, feeling Nick and Tyson scramble to stay on his shoulder. They were crowded onto the right one, Nick’s wings tickling his earlobe.

*

[some stuff happens]

*

“You should get another tattoo.” Tyson was watching from the dresser, tail hanging down past his feet.

Chris examined his arm. “You think?”

“Yeah.” Tyson’s tail flicked, like a cat’s. “Something like, further down your arm, maybe.”

“I gotta wear short sleeves to work sometimes. I _work in HR_. Don’t make Bob report me.”

Nick looked up from where he was still trying, unsuccessfully, to clean his shirt. “Ty, quit it.”

“Oh come on! Alright, maybe not there. I can compromise.” Tyson looked Chris up and down and said, “You ever think about chest tattoos?”

“Why, do you have one?”

Tyson grinned, wide. “I got tattoos all over, baby,” he drawled, and held out his arms. Where previously there had just been unmarked skin, inked vines grew and twined and sprouted roses and scrolls with letters and leaves shaped like skulls.

“Wow,” Chris moved closer to examine them. “That is _badass_.”

“I can make them appear on Nick, too, watch.” Chris looked at Nick, and saw a small heart bloom on his hip.

Nick rolled his eyes and the heart disappeared. “Ty, remember we discussed our sex games, and how we shouldn’t talk about them _in front of Chris_?”

There was silence for a minute. “I did not,” Chris said at last, “need to know that.”

Tyson sidled over to Nick and curled around him. “I’ll say it for you, baby. Shit.”

“Thanks.” Nick buried his head in Tyson’s shoulder. “Make him forget or something.”

“Already on it,” Chris assured them. Tyson looked up, petting Nick’s hair, and winked.  



End file.
